The She-Wolf
by out.of.sea.into.woods
Summary: Lyanna Stark was never meant to change the world. She was a simple, wild girl from Winterfell with a pretty face and a torn skirt. But in the end, her life would shape the future of Westeros in ways she could never have imagined.
1. Prologue - And More

Lyanna Stark was born in the last throes of a long winter. Though the snow was fierce when she took her first breath, within a few months spring had come even to the North, and when the child opened her eyes for the first time, the winter roses bloomed.

Lord Rickard and Lady Lyarra rejoiced in their wonder of a daughter. Their sons, the brash five year old Brandon and Eddard, who was still quiet at the age of four, would soon leave Winterfell to be fostered in some other home. But Lyanna would stay and occupy her parents' time and thoughts. And occupy them, she did. In her early years, Lynna proved to be just as rough and headstrong as her brother.

"She'll never marry," Lyarra complained one night to her husband as they sat in their chambers, her fingers working furiously along another mud stained, torn dress of Lyanna's. "She will end up as some wilding, eating dirt and wearing deer skins for clothes."

"She's just a girl," Rickard sighed, rubbing his temples. "She'll grow."

"Too headstrong," Lyarra murmured. "Too much wolfblood."

"Enough of this." Rickard commanded sternly. Lyarra went silent, the only sounds were the soft shifting of threads. Then, looking to the fire that blazed softly, she said, "Oh, but she'll never be pretty. I can see it, she'll never be a beauty."

"She's a Stark." Rickard assured her. "She will be all the beauty of Winter and more."


	2. Chapter 1 - Eddard

"Lyanna!"

I hold my breath, covering my mouth with my hand to dispel the fog. The leaves of the godswood rustle ever so slightly, making me pull my cloak a little closer to my body. A crow caws obscenely above my head.

_If you give me away,_ I think murderously. _I will be wearing feathers to dinner tonight_. The crow, nonplussed, decides to flutter away with one last screech. Old Nan, however, seems to not notice and shuffles past me and out of the godswood quickly. I let out a nervous breath. Alone again.

I step out from behind the cluster of trees slowly, my dress making soft noises against the grass. The air is chilled, but not as bad as it was yesterday. Some of the smallfolk speak of spring, but Father scoffs at that. "Winter is coming, child," he admonishes me. He seems to forget that, at least with us, winter is _always_ coming.

The heart tree stands stills as ever before the black pool, not a ripple in sight, despite the wind. I stand before the deep-cut face, taking in deep, biting breaths. I remember little Ned, his eyes huge in his head. "The gods are in that tree," he swore in a way only a boy can.

"I think it's just a stupid old face!" Brandon jested, throwing a rock at Ned's head.

"Shut up!" I had argued. I promptly picked up a stick and chased him round the godswood till Old Nan came out and beat us all about the ears.

_Ned thought you were foreboding_, I tell the heart tree. _Brandon thought you were a joke. And Benjen- who knows?_ But I thought it was kinder than that, our heart tree. I thought the face was laughing, if somewhat restrained. But still, smiling at least. I held out a hesitant hand, contemplating touching the strange face.

"Lady Lyanna!" A hoarse voice called out. I looked up and could see Maester Walys, his bald head shining like the chains around his neck as they dangle in the cold sunlight. His face is wrinkled and agitated. "You might as well come in now. Your brother just arrived!"

"Which one?" I call out. Walys' beady eyes lock on to me instantly.

"The good one!" He replies in a huff and disappears.

_So that'll be Ned_, I think with a smile. Walys always thought Brandon had a little too much heat in his blood. I give one last, fond look to the heart tree, and race off, hiking my skirts up mid-thigh.

I cut through the armory, all dark and smelling of leather and dust, to meet Ned at the East Gate. A few horses, laden with rolls of clothes and weapons, are attended by a few squires. Amongst them, a dark haired young man gives out quiet orders.

"Eddard!" I cry out, mud splattering my stockings. Ned turns around and his cold eyes brighten with surprise. I throw my arms around him and nearly knock him over with the force of my embrace. But I find his body harder, leaner than when he last visited.

"Lyanna." His arms wrap around my shoulders and I feel his hand cup my head. I close my eyes and smile, revelling in his scent. It's of roads and winds and I love it.

"Lyanna." He repeats. "Lyanna, don't you think you should've- er… Held yourself-"

"Oh shut up, Ned." I pull away, smiling. His face is that of a man and while he'll never be quite as handsome as Father or Brandon, his smile is genuine and his heart is in his eyes. "If I wanted a lecture on how to behave like a lady, I would've talked to Mother."

He smiles. "How are you?"

"_Bored_." I roll my eyes. "But better now that you're here." I see the squires carrying huge piles of weapons into the castle. I raise an eyebrow. "I see the Eyrie keeps its wards well protected."

"I figured we might need- eh, re-stocking." Ned's eyes shift and he tugs at his cloak awkwardly. I glare at him and I'm about to say something when I hear Father's heavy footsteps behind me.

"Eddard." I turn around and almost run into Father's chest. His voice is like stone- steady and cold. Although past his prime, Father is still a mountain of a man, broad too. His beard is thick and pure white, as is his hair. His grey eyes betray no emotion. I back away and allow Ned to face Father.

Ned is still a head shorter than Father, being forced to look up at him. Ned's eyes show the slightest hint of fear, but it is swallowed up by a look of stony confidence that makes him look more of a Stark. "Father." Ned holds out an arm. After a moment's pause, Father takes it and shakes it slowly.

"I am pleased you are here." Father's face doesn't change, but his voice is just a degree warmer. "Was your journey enjoyable?"

"Yes, Father. Thank you."

"Good. Brandon will be here soon. I'll have your things brought to your room." Father turns and rests his eyes on me. "Lyanna." He looks down to my dirty hem, but says nothing and strides back into the castle.

"Well, well, well." I say once he's gone. "I thought he might start singing a ditty and dancing around the courtyard."

"Shove off." Ned gives me a grin and, throwing an arm around my shoulder, guides me inside.

The Great Hall of Winterfell is warm and laughter, for the first time in a while, resounds off the wall while Ned hugs Benjen tightly.

"I'm so glad you're home!" Benjen, his voice still going through the shaky journey to manhood, smiles up at Ned. "It's so much better when you and Brandon are here."

"What, Lyanna isn't much fun?" Ned says quietly.

"She's always off riding." Benjen complains.

"And when I'm not, I'm beating you at sword fighting." Ned laughs out loud while Benjen hotly denies it.

"Better be careful, Lyanna." Ned warns me, ruffling Benjen's hair. "If Mother finds out you've been handling a sword-"

"She'll be no less disappointed in me than she already is." I say with a huff, running my fingers through my knotty hair. Ned smiles sweetly and says nothing.

"When do we leave for the tourney?" Benjen breaks the silence.

"Tomorrow at dawn." I say. "Brandon should be here by nightfall, but if he's late-"

"Are you _sure_ I can't compete?" Benjen says to Ned, his eyes pleading. Ned opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by the great wooden doors opening to Mother, taking steady steps toward us.

"Eddard." She smiles and opens her arms to him.

"Mother." He slowly approaches her and embraces her, kissing her aged cheek. My rebelliousness and the harsh winters have not been kind to her and her face is deeply lined, and her once dark hair is now streaked with snowy silver.

She smiles at Ned. "I am so pleased that you're here, even for a day."

"When will Brandon get here?" Benjen cuts in.

"He just arrived." She says, and Benjen takes off running. Shaking her head fondly, she turns back to Ned and asks, "How is Lord Arryn?"

"Well. He'll meet us at Harrenhal."

"Good," She pats his shoulder. "You must be tired from your journey. Go to your room and rest- I'll fetch you for dinner." Mother casts a disapproving glance to my gown. "And you, Lyanna, please _bathe_ before then." She leaves in silence, except for the sound of her gown against the stone floor.

"Exit the queen." I sigh and slump into one of the long benches. "Ugh, a bath means I have to get ready _now_."

"Ah, the torturous life of a lady." Ned muses. "More dangerous than anything any lord will ever face."

"Not that there's anything truly dangerous about being a lord nowadays."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Ned murmurs.

"Ned?" I ask him. He shakes his head, as if freeing his mind from cobwebs.

"Don't fret about it. Besides," A soft smile warms his face. "You have a bath to attend to."


End file.
